im a PAGAN you're a PAGAN(A DOUBLE DOSE OF THE PAGANS)

HERES SOME SHIT (TWO 7"S) FROM CLEVELAND's VERY OWN PAGANS ,first off is the "THE STREET WHERE NOBODY LIVES 7"http://www.mediafire.com/?ty15dzoiiug,HERE'S A LIL NOTE FROM THE BANDS SINGER MIKE HUDSON-
We were a band. A real band. Four guys melded into one projectile and fired out the gun of our own desires. Paul took a big Marshal stage head and wired it into the tiny speaker of a Fender Pignose practice amp. Tommy plugged in his guitar, a Gibson 335 hollow body, and the sound that resulted was subhuman. "Street Where Nobody Lives," which I had written in my car stuck in traffic on the way home from work one night, was the A-side but the B, "What's This Shit Called Love?" became what's probably still our best known track. - Mike Hudson

I saw it in books, I read it on TV
It don't mean nothin' to me
Little girl, I got a question
Come on babe, teach me a lesson
What's this shit called love?

NEXT IS THE "DEAD END AMERICA7"
http://www.mediafire.com/?ewjkut41fm4 ,AND HERE'S WHAT THE SINGER HAS TO SAY ABOUT THIS LIL GEM-
Cocaine had replaced acid as the drug du jour and, as winter came, we got in deep. At the end of November we recorded "Dead End America" b/w "Little Black Egg," a Nightcrawlers cover, in the cut-rate Mustard Studios run by Paul Marotta and Jamie Klimek of the Styrenes, to raise some quick cash. It didn't work out that way.
The night before New Years Eve we headlined "Disastodrome 3" with a half-dozen other bands at the old WHK Auditorium on Euclid Avenue by East 55th Street. Devo and Ubu had headlined the first two concerts at the venerable old hall, which the Beatles had played the first time they came to Cleveland. We took our pay in coke, a pile of it. Brian drop kicked a full length mirror on the wall of one of our dressing rooms so we'd have something to do it off of.
A small riot erupted when we took the stage at about two in the morning. The stage was soaked with beer and we were showered with bottles shattering onstage. Klieg lights shorted out and exploded. I kept slipping in the wet and falling, sustaining dozens of cuts from the broken glass that was all over the stage. My good friend, the noted Cleveland journalist Ken Baka, told me he was concerned about my safety and later, David Thomas wrote an article in CLE Magazine about how he, Jim Jones, Anton Fier and others gathered a safe distance away, intrigued to see how we were going to get out of this one alive.
We didn't know it, but it was over. In another 12 months, none of us were speaking. - Mike Hudson